A Penchant for Sacrifice
by Silver Kitten
Summary: What if Dr. Ellicott got to Dean first instead of Sam at the Roosevelt Asylum? Sequel added: the aftermath of Dean proving to Sam that he'd die for him. Please R
1. A Penchant for Sacrifice

Disclaimer: The Winchester brother's are mine…that is, if I owned the WB network, which I do not. I know, let's all riot now, shall we? Just kidding…

Author's Note: This story was written for a challenge submitted by **Mellaithwen** on P.L. Wynter's Supernatural forum found on this lovely site. The challenge was: What if, in the Roosevelt Asylum, Dean was the one who was first "possessed" by Dr. Ellicott? At first I had no idea what to write, and then this thought came into my head…actually, the title came first, and then this happened. It's also kind of a character study on Dean's part, I guess. At first this was going to be a one-parter, but as I read over it…I'm thinking I might have to write one more part…just so people won't hunt me down and stab me in the eye with a paper clip…Why would someone do that? Well, I'll shut up now and let you ponder that. Er…I'll shut up in a moment.

Warnings: Rated for language. No, this isn't slash…just a lot of, what do you call it…smarm? There is a lot of angst and…I'm afraid to say…there might be character death. MIGHT…I haven't decided. Fair warning, okay? Please, no flames, but if you insist on making me feel bad for trying something new to me, then go ahead…but only if it makes you feel better, kay?

Other nonsense probably making you regret ever clicking the link: Just wanted to state the obvious that I twisted some of the given dialogue for Dean, since…I'm sure under a kind of "possession" each brother would have their own way of approaching the other…or something. Wow, it's 2 a.m. and my double espresso is wearing off…Go on and read the story, I think you've earned that right by now…

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A Penchant for Sacrifice

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"_Dean, I need help. It's comin' at me. I'm in the basement, hurry up!_"

Dean slammed his cell phone shut and turned to exit to the basement. He briefly stopped, pulled a gun and a few pellets of rock salt out and tossed them to the anxious teens. He didn't bother asking if they knew how to work a gun. His brother needed him.

"Stay here. If you see something, point and pull the trigger," he instructed, dashing out of view.

_I'm coming, Sammy…_

Dean entered the basement in a rush of panic and a pretense of courage. He'd be brave enough to fight a pissed off poltergeist, but all his valor would surely dissipate in the sight of his fallen baby brother. The unbidden thought was pushed away as Dean continued further into the basement.

"Sam!" he yelled, gun and flashlight hand in hand, pointing in every which way. "Sammy!"

He heard no response; heard nothing at all. He was beginning to get scared, something that didn't happen very often. He burst through a door labeled with cautionary warning and his heart was nearly bursting out of his chest. Where was his brother?

Suddenly, his flashlight flickered wildly until it quit completely.

"Damn it," Dean cursed under a breath, knocking the flashlight against his free palm. He wasn't sure what that'd accomplish, but it made him feel better.

He thought he heard a noise behind him and turned around. There was nothing.

And then a door to the side of him creaked open, all on its own.

"That can't be good," the hunter muttered, taking a reproachful step towards the new room. Knowing the idea was foolish, he couldn't walk away from the possibility Sam might be in the room. _Sam could be injured now…or worse…_

A small flame shot out from his lighter as he opened it and adorned the room with pitiful light as he entered.

"Sammy?" he tried his best to mask the growing fear in his voice. When he was ultimately certain Sam, or any other entities, weren't in the room, he didn't want to waste any more time. "Why do I always gotta save your geeky ass, little brother?" he directed the question to no one, trying to further away thoughts of fear. He grinned as he recollected his lifetime prerogative. It might be a hassle sometimes, looking after the baby Winchester, but he'd been devoted to Sam since the beginning and unquestionably would be throughout the very end…

…_And thereafter_…

Dean made one final glance at the empty room, bidding it a not-so-fond farewell, before turning to leave, when something caught hold of his head. He didn't have time to back into a defensive stance as the grimy looking ghost clawed into his mind. Dean's skull ached, his vision blurred and he was losing feeling throughout his entire body. The last thought he remembered was that he needed to get to Sam. The last voice he heard spoke chillingly to him:

"Don't be afraid. I'm going to make you all better,"

-:-

Dean opened his eyes and his sight was cast upon an empty doorway.

_Someone was there…Someone…_

He found it hard to focus as his head began pounding. He lifted himself up from the dirty floor and brushed off his jacket. The lightlessness of the room didn't faze him. He didn't bother with a lighter or trying his flashlight. He didn't care. And it wasn't just that Dean didn't care, it was that he didn't feel…anything. He felt no fear, no concern, and no peace. He couldn't understand why he suddenly woke up, lying on a damp floor, head pounding…and left empty inside.

He couldn't understand…but it didn't bother him in the slightest.

He walked out of the room as if he'd known where he was going; but he did not. Something was different, something had changed…he was beginning to feel the aspect of a turnabout when he heard it.

"Dean!" Someone was calling for him. Someone he knew almost too well. And something clicked inside of him. He remained silent, walking to the carrier of the worried voice.

Dean wasn't sure of how he managed to creep out of the shadows with such ease. It suddenly seemed natural for him. And he stood there for a moment quietly studying this man who was looking for him.

It was Sam.

Not _Sammy_ anymore. Not Sammy ever again…

And he was his brother, he knew that now, felt it now…and suddenly he felt angry. He felt envy, bitterness and utter contempt, and it was sweeping over him like a shadow in a dark room. He didn't know why. He didn't need to know why.

And then the younger brother halted in his steps and looked wide-eyed at Dean.

"Dean! Why didn't you answer me when I was calling you?" Sam sounded upset but held relief to see his brother was all right just the same.

"Guess I didn't hear you," the words were just as empty as his eyes when he peered at the other man.

"You know I didn't call you on the cell, right?"

Dean glared at Sam. "Yeah, I figured someone was trying to lure me down here,"

"Probably. I found Dr. Ellicott's journal, and he's done some messed up things. He had been working with his theory that if he got patients to vent their anger, they'd be free of it. Instead, it only made them worse…they got angrier and angrier, to the point where they became homicidal. I think that's what he's done to the people in the past, the officer…"

"Huh, really…" Dean was apathetic but Sam accepted it as his way of mulling the idea over.

"Yeah. So we just have to find the body. Through that room there is where he performed a lot of his twisted experiments. I'm guessing his body might be hid somewhere inside,"

Sam walked by Dean to the room. Dean didn't respond.

"Are you coming?" Sam asked, tilting his head. Dean sighed heavily and followed Sam.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he huffed. Sam rolled his eyes and they went into a dark room. Sam used his flashlight to shed visibility over the dark objects.

"I already checked here, ya know," Dean spat, becoming impatient for no reason. Sam knelt down by a loose board in one of the walls.

"Do you hear that?" He said quietly. He swore he heard a gust of wind. Sam put his hand along a protruding piece of rotten wood and began to pull on it. He stopped when he heard something rattle behind him.

"Sam," Dean growled in a stern voice and Sam turned and stood abruptly. His face paled as he noticed the gun pointing in his direction.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, his balance wavering from confusion.

"Get away from the door,"

"Just…put the gun down, Dean,"

"And what do you plan on doing about it if I don't? Run away like you always do?" Dean felt the words tumble out as if they had been held captive and finally got a chance to run free. They sprung from his thoughts, but the words held intentions with alternative motives, not his…

Sam watched as blood tricked from Dean's nose over his lips, which he quickly wiped away.

"I knew it…Ellicott did something to you, didn't he?"

"Shut up, Sam. You don't know the first thing about me," The older Winchester hissed, holding the gun higher towards Sam's chest.

Sam bit his lip, unsure of what he could do now to get to his brother. He took an awkward but gentle step forward, his posture claiming an attempt to get a little closer, hands facing palm out with surrender.

"Stay where you are!" Dean commanded. Sam stopped and put his hands down, fear beginning to well in his eyes.

"That gun is filled with rock salt, Dean. It won't kill me," Sam tried to speak plainly. The next thing he knew his body was falling backward through a thin wall of splintering wood; his chest and back feeling instantly bruised by the pressure of a pounding force.

"No, but it'll hurt like a bitch," Dean snapped, almost smiling.

**Sammy! Sammy, I'm sorry…**

Sam coughed, gasping for air and eyes cast upward as if to plea for help. He tried to sit up but the pain was too much and he was forced back down.

"We just…have to find his bones…burn them, and this will be…over…" Sam said through shaky breathes.

"You're right about one thing," Dean taunted, pointing the gun back down at Sam and stepping closer. "It's time this ended. I'm ready for this all to be over with, this fear, this reliability. It's sickening, really. I'm always stuck being the one saving you from monsters, hiding you from pain, protecting you and standing up for you…I've done it so much now you're corrupted by your own, pathetic weakness," Dean said coldly.

**No, I don't mean that…**

"You don't mean that," Sam replied, trying to ignore the aching of his body that begged him to keep quiet and still. "This isn't you talking,"

"Oh, but it is…I've just been too much of a coward to say it, too cautioned for your peace of mind that I kept everything locked inside that might hurt your precious feelings. Maybe I was the coward…It doesn't matter much, now…"

"What? You want to kill me?" Sam asked, fearing the answer to his question. Dean eyed Sam suspiciously, as if thinking the prospect over with a mixture of trepidation and delight. "If you're really so sick of me, here, this will do better." he said, slowly lifting the silver pistol that he'd tucked into his waistband. He gestured Dean to take it and after a brief moment of hesitation, he swiped it from Sam's loose grip.

"Do you have a death wish, brother?"

"You're not my brother. And if you were him, he'd fight…he'd fight like Hell right now, and not give in to some crazy doctor's crappy mind-control game," Sam's words were harsh but sentimental. He wanted Dean to hear him; wanted Dean to fight…he only prayed Dean could.

**I'm fighting, Sammy…I'm trying…**

"I wish I could say I expected more of a fight from you, Sam. I guess, in the end, I'm to blame for that." Dean said, getting a feel for the new gun in his hands as he looked at Sam and avoided actually seeing him. "If you weren't such a pushover, such a poor excuse for a hunter…maybe then I could have a normal life, too. While you were off trying to play Brady Bunch, I was stuck cleaning up the mess you left with Dad. He blames you, ya know…for Mom dying…"

**No, he doesn't! Don't listen, don't believe that…**

**Get that look out of your eyes, Sammy…Please don't look at me like that…**

"I once blamed you, too…but then I remembered how much of a weakling you are, too weak to commit such a catastrophe. And so I was stuck protecting you, from the things hiding in your closet, waiting under your bed, around the corner….even protecting you from Dad. And you left me, you ungrateful bastard…You know, I've tried to understand what I do so well that drives everyone I ever love away from me…" His voice lowered with reluctant sorrow.

Sam found it difficult to speak.

"Don't talk like that," Sam begged while trying not to be influenced the words his brother was speaking.

"Like what? Like _I'm_ weak? Okay, so I admit to one weakness and one weakness only," Dean's frigid gaze closed in on Sam like a vulture preparing to strike its feeble prey. "You're my weakness, Sam. And I hate having a weakness. Like Dad always told me, weakness leads to fear…Fear holds you back. I can't let you hold me back anymore." His words were acidic, his voice was lined with a poisonous anger, and yet Sam couldn't mistake the tears he saw forming in his brother's eyes. It's like he was crying and unable to stop it, though his mind willed otherwise.

Sam was desperately trying to ignore the pure hatred drilling into his head, all from his brother. He knew it was Ellicott's doing, but what Dean was saying…it was so believable, so possible. And the possibility of these supposed vacant words being true was something Sam couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

**I can't do this…**

"Dean, don't do this…"

"You told me once you'd die for me," there was no feeling emanating from his words, nothing to suggest malice or forgiveness, nothing spiteful or inclined to a proper response Sam was able to give.

"And I meant it. I _mean_ it." For a moment, Sam let the fear of his own brother murdering him subside as he kindly reminded Dean he wasn't going to give in. He was going to be strong for his brother, like his brother was always strong for him. His tears, however, were stronger than Sam had hoped. He didn't want Dean to see him cry, but that was something, like this whole situation, that was out of his control.

Dean's hand trembled as he held the gun firmer in his hands, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"You don't understand!" Dean shouted. "Everything I've ever done was for you! Everything I'll ever do will be for you! Damn you, Sam! I can't live like this…with you, this…this ends tonight," Fresh tears fell, his eyes glazed over in a fear Sam could never comprehend in that moment.

**No…I can't kill him, I can't kill my baby brother…I won't!**

Dean's hand struggled to keep the gun at a required aim to his brother's heart, not knowing that the young Winchester's heart had already been broken by the mere threat of the trigger being pulled.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam let the tears fall. He was weak, and he was going to die because of it. His brother was stronger than him, knew better for him…He couldn't fight his brother. Dean would always have the last say, the last laugh, and somewhere deep down Sam knew Dean would be the last man standing. Dean was just stronger, much stronger. Sam was left helpless at his brother's expense.

He knew nothing of what to say or do to make amends. His older brother's words made sense, perfect sense. This wasn't Ellicott's doing…Sam was coming to a realization that he had somehow corrupted Dean's life. He'd ruined Dean in the past, and he would in the future. Perhaps, he deserved to die. If his death brought his brother some sense of release, of tranquility…he had no other choice but to submit.

"I'm sorry," Sam said again, with an uncontrollable sob, his voice confined to a whisper.

**It's not your fault Sam! What have I done to you? **

"Apologies…never saved anyone," Dean said solemnly. He was beginning to sweat. Someone inside him was fighting the urge to pull the trigger. There was a much stronger urge, deriving from a buried emotion. _And nothing stays buried_…It was that kindled devotion Dean was instilled with. It was a kind of a promise that goes without saying, a bond nothing could break no matter how far someone bent it. It was brotherly love; Dean's eternal conviction that Sam was _his_ and he needed to protect him.

"You're wrong. You'd never die for me," Dean spoke, this time his voice carried a softer tone. "I wouldn't let you, not if I could save you first," and with that, Dean forcefully moved the gun away from his little brother's direction. Still, something within him longed for death, be it his brother's or his own. Something tugged at him to pull that trigger, something burned with an insatiable desire inside him for blood. _Ellicott_…

**If it's you or me, Sammy…It's gonna be me…**

He had no choice as the cold metal of the gun pressed against his temple, finger on the trigger and ready to fire.

Dean was fighting within himself to save his brother, though he would have to sacrifice himself.

And it was the look Sam was giving him in that moment, as he first saw the gun move away from him to his older sibling, that Dean knew why he would give his life up. It was the look of innocence, being tainted once again by an evil thirsting for death. Dean had a penchant for sacrifice. He'd sacrifice years of his life, all but four when times were less than simple and evil hadn't scorched his world. He'd sacrifice for strangers, for those undeserving, for his father and most of all, for his brother. He'd do it for the innocent, and for the innocence his brother had the capacity for.

"Sorry…Sammy…" the words were forced out, and Dean shut his eyes having only a moment left of lucid awareness which he didn't want to spend on seeing the suffering of his little brother.

"I love you, Dean! Don't…please…"

**I love you more, Sammy…**

And the last thing either brother heard was the sound of the bullet chamber clicking into a release.

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_If I tell you I'm crying right now after writing this, will you still hate me? Yeah, figured you would…lol. I was…and am terrified to submit this but I suppose if you're reading this then it's too late…damage done. Actually, I'm proud of this...wouldn't post it if I wasn't. Well, I'm open to comments, compliments, suggestions, complaints, any kind of feedback. Let me know what ya liked, what you hated…what you want to kill with a spork…um, yes. Thanks for reading…_

_Silver Kitten_


	2. Pieces of a Broken Heart

Author's Note: I did cave and wrote a sequel, dealing with the aftermath and such. The first part did enough for me on its own, but this is something I had to whip up to be supplemental and expand. Oh, and I just want to give a shout out to all who have read and who have reviewed and say thanks for the love and support with this story. You all made me smile :)

On with the story...

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A Penchant for Sacrifice 2  


_Pieces of a Broken Heart_

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"Sorry…Sammy…"

"I love you, Dean! Don't…please…"

With one tortured inhale, Sam no longer felt the once throbbing pain in his chest inflicted by the rock salt wound, nor did he feel the bruises on his back and arms from being thrown through a wall. Quite honestly, he felt nothing and he was immobile at the sight of a gun being pointed to his brother's head. _His_ gun.

The harder he willed his body to move, to leap forth and steal Death away from his brother's hands, the less he found himself capable. The accursed fear pulsating through him had frozen him, except for his heart. He felt the damn thing pounding outside his chest, faster and faster, and the sound of blood rushing about inside his body crashed into his head and it was all he heard. And then, he felt the constriction in his chest as something inside him crumbled, gave way…and he knew his heart was quite literally breaking…or he wished it was so he could end the pain.

And as the trigger clenched back and Dean's wrist flinched in struggle, the inevitable happened. He saw his brother's eyes shoot open in a mixture of shame and pity. The gun fired…

Sam's broken heart shattered and he closed his eyes in defeat.

In waiting for that awful finality, Sam became overpowered by emotions as he heard nothing. It was the most precious sound in the world…the sound of a gun firing empty. No bullet had made an exit. Sam savored the fact his gun wasn't loaded, mentally kicked himself for not checking it prior and then once again for the briefest of moments returned to the sight of his still-standing brother. Dean was still alive. And Sam could save him.

Sam was the only one who ever could save Dean.

Pushing down the upheaval of nausea in Sam's stomach, he threw aside his immobilizing fears and tackled his brother to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hands.

Dean fought, despite himself, against his brother. Sam gazed steadily into his eyes, silently communicating that he was sorry, but it would be for his own good.

He lifted his arm back, sore but forced through the irritated pain, and swooped down hard enough to knock Dean unconscious. Sam winced and lifted himself off his brother. He looked down at him with sympathy, thoughts plaguing his mind though he had no time to dwell. He had a ghost to kill and a brother to avenge.

Finding the bones wasn't so difficult after what he'd just conquered, and he took a fond joy in lighting them on fire and watching them burn. And as Dr. Ellicott appeared before him before degenerating to ash, Sam gave him a chilling smile.

"I hope you suffer in Hell, you son of a bitch,"

The threat was gone, but the damage would not so soon fade away…

Sam ran to Dean when he heard him moan as he was slowly coming back to consciousness. He knelt down beside him and Dean fluttered his eyes open and immediately searched for Sam's.

"Sammy," he said weakly. He was obviously drained of most his energy from the battle, both outside and in.

"I'm here," Sam told him, fighting his urge to whimper from the pain he felt in his chest. It had come back. Dean seemed to notice his brother's internal struggle and cursed himself under a faint breath. He knew he was responsible for it…

They used each other for support to help themselves stand and glanced around the room. Dean took a moment to examine Sam's chest and cringed with the thought of how bad it must hurt. Sam had no strength left of his own to begin their much needed follow-up conversation, and he didn't want to stay in that forsaken asylum a second longer.

"Let's just get Gavin and Kat and get out of here, okay?" Sam was asking Dean to put his words aside and take the request with simplicity, which he did, though only for the sake of his brother and that fact that he didn't want to stay either.

The rest was easy now. They found Gavin and Kat, led them out to safety, and saw that they were on their way home, away from danger.

In the pale light of early dawn Dean studied his brother's features. It was the first chance since the incident that he really got to see exactly what he'd done to his little brother. Most of the harm he caused, as he well understood, wouldn't leave visible bruises…but the kind of bruises one suffers when their pride is ripped apart, when their foundation is pulled out from below, when their heart is broken. Those were the kinds of injuries Dean found most difficult to treat, and took the longest to recover from.

"Dean?" and there it was, for sure, that infamous question. Dean could hear it before Sam took another breath. _Are we going to talk about this?_

And it wasn't that Dean didn't want to talk about it…he knew he'd have to. He had to mend Sammy, make things better. He was just so tired, and he felt too fragile out in the open where bystanders could overhear their conversations. He just wanted to get his brother and himself back to their motel, away from this asylum…away from it all.

"Sam, I'm really tired…and you're hurt. We need to get you back to the motel so I can take a look at those rock salt wounds." He'd stated bluntly, almost a bit uncaring as he didn't want to provoke much of a response from Sam other than simply obeying his wish. Sam nodded, putting a hand over his chest and stepping into the passenger side of the Impala. Dean watched in pitiful helplessness as Sam disappeared from his view below the smooth, black top of the car.

He got inside as well and the engine roared to life, seeming a bit louder than usual, else it was just more silent in the car than they were used to. He wanted to turn and face his brother, but the sight of him he held firm in his peripheral vision was enough to make his heart leap into his stomach. His brother was in pain because of him. He couldn't look at Sam right now…not yet.

The car ride was longer and more quiet than necessary, and Dean believed it was due to the anticipating guilt he had felt welling up inside him. Not even Sam was talking, and Dean was half expecting to have to deter Sam in his urge to discuss the previous events…he only wished his brother would give him the chance.

Something had surely changed between them.

And although Dean would never admit it- he was scared because of that.

He grabbed the first aid kit from the back and watched his brother, unnoticed, as he trudged into the motel, his hand over his chest as if he could keep himself from falling over. Dean would have given anything to trade places with his brother now. He followed Sam inside and took his jacket off, still uncertain about the words inside him itching to find their way out.

Sam was the first to speak, like he usually always was, much to Dean's approval and distress.

"Dean, I know you don't want to talk about what happened," he said warmly, then clenched his teeth as he took a moment to sit on his bed. The pain was apparently overwhelming. Dean cringed.

"Actually, man…I think we better."

At that, Sam tore his head up and stared his brother down. He would have joked that Ellicott was still messing with his brother, but he knew that wouldn't be an appropriate humor spot for a good while.

"Really?" was all the young Winchester could pull from his thoughts. He wasn't complaining, just astonished and slightly caught off guard.

Dean nodded, sitting across from Sam on the adjacent bed and tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. He paused before continuing. "Ya know, it's like…if we don't, then I'm afraid it'll come back and bite us in our asses later,"

Something was obviously bothering Dean and it didn't take his new awareness of a sixth sense for Sam to see that. They had been through a lot of terrible situations before, but there was something about this one that really cut into them.

"Dean, when you were…I mean, what you did…"

"You're not weak," Dean interjected, his eyes harboring an intensity that Sam never saw before. "And you don't hold me back," he was remembering the words he stabbed Sam with earlier. Sam tilted his head back. A small smile stretched on his face.

"I know," he said, trying not to sound too cocky…just pleasantly confident. He was reassured his brother was telling the truth.

"And I never blamed you for Mom, either" Dean said, ready to attack his point with evidence. He let himself believe he needed to convince his brother of that, regardless of Sam's accepting demeanor. "Never…"

Sam looked directly at his brother, forgetting the pain he felt tensing through his body.

"I believe you, and I know you didn't mean any of what you said back there…," Sam let on and Dean crossed his arms, perhaps an attempt to hug himself, preparing for the worst which he had expected to hear. He knew his words were hurtful, and although false, stemmed from very harsh realities. He kept seeing the look in his brother's eyes as he spoke the evil words to Sam, the look of betrayal. He deserved a verbal lashing from Sam, he was waiting to hear it.

"But…?" Dean coaxed, wanting to get the guilt-trip over with.

"What you said…about how you feel you drive everyone away," Sam's chest felt rigid after recalling his brother's expression when he said the words. Dean looked away from Sam, who continued. "Somehow, I don't think doctor Ellicott made you say that…"

"I don't remember saying that," Dean lied, feeling the red rush of embarrassment coloring his face.

"And I won't ever forget you saying that," Sam expressed, attempting to straighten his posture. He felt he might not be taken seriously if he looked the part of an injured soldier. "And it's not your fault. You didn't drive anyone away,"

"I drove you away," Dean said lowly.

"Dad drove me away. And besides, I came back anyway, didn't I? I came back because of you,"

"And I ruined your normal life forever," Dean finished, suddenly wanting to turn his now chatty brother off. Sam hesitated before continuing, choosing his words and tone carefully. This was a delicate conversation, and one tip on the wrong side and it would be over, possibly for good. And Sam needed to be heard out entirely.

"Shut up," he sounded tired but stressed the words lightly with seriousness. "Don't say that. The only thing that ruined normal for us was that thing that killed our Mom. I never had normal, not really…I tried, but it didn't feel right,"

"Why? Because you didn't fit in with the crowd?"

"Because you weren't there with me," Sam confessed. Dean exchanged a look at his brother and back away, feeling something twist inside his stomach, and his resolve to avoid chick-flick moments was gone.

"Sammy,"

"I know, I sound like a girl…but right now I don't care. I should have told you this sooner, Dean. I appreciate everything you've done, everything you do for me…even when I took it for granted, even when I left for Stanford…the hardest part in leaving was saying goodbye to you. And I resented the fact you were always trying to fix me, because I was never broken. Not when you were with me. And I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry if you ever felt like I didn't care, or that I was ungrateful…" Sam stopped himself, having to take a breath to collect his thoughts and put a halt to the tears brimming his eyes.

Dean sat, jaw partly dropped open, staring at his brother speechlessly. Sam was sorry? How could he be sorry?

"It's all right, Sammy,"

"No, it's not. Not really. It should have been me, not you,"

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, slightly spooked at Sam's sudden fear emanating from his voice.

"You died for me," Sam spoke and the first tear fell. "You fought…and you were about to put a bullet in your head, just to save my life…If that gun was loaded…I never would have gotten a chance to tell you, to remind you that…I'm grateful, and I'm sorry, and…I love you, and you deserve a better brother," and more tears followed.

Sam was quick to wipe the tears away, his hands trembling. He was showing how weak he was again, and it was killing him. Why couldn't he be strong like Dean? Why couldn't he be strong for Dean?

And by the time new tears were falling, Dean had crossed over to Sam's side, gently pulling him into a hug. He would have squeezed his arms tighter around Sam, but he held back only because of his wound.

And Sam fell into his brother's arms, hating the fact he was being such a crybaby, but he couldn't help it. Dean hadn't realized what he'd done for Sam. Regardless of the gun being unloaded, Dean had pulled the trigger on himself. He ended his life to save Sam's, and why the fuck couldn't he understand the value in that?

Dean was more concerned for how he tried to hurt his brother than he was acknowledgeable of the fact he saved him. He was so wrapped up in guilt and worry that he was blind to his own worth, his own irreversible deed of giving his brother the ultimate sacrifice. And the thought of Dean leaving him like that tore him apart.

Sam's heart was broken with the idea that his brother, that fierce protection, that unbreakable bond could be deconstructed with a simple, proverbial bullet. And there it was, their brotherhood, lying broken between the two, each of them holding a piece that connected with the other; each of them completing the bond.

"I'd die for you like you'd die for me. You'd do the same if Ellicott got to you first," Dean said, warding off tears. He was able to do so only because he was trained. With those words ringing closely into his ears, he pulled himself closer to his brother, not wanting to let go.

The fact was that Sam didn't know if he could believe he'd do the same if it happened to him. He knew he wasn't weak, but he wasn't like Dean. Dean was a perfected soldier, he grew up taking care of Sam, learning how to die for Sam…and Sam was different. He was strong but not as strong. He was capable of dying for his brother, but maybe not capable of putting the gun to his own head. He didn't know how well he could fight, and that frightened him to death.

But Sam had to believe he would fight, even if he couldn't win. And he sighed with thankfulness knowing it wasn't him who had been possessed, knowing he had time to grow stronger, so one day he might be as strong as his brother. And he held on to the hope that when the time came, when Dean would finally break and need Sam's help, Sam could be there with confidence enough in the conviction of his words that he'd always believe true, "Yeah, Dean…I'd die for you," _Like you died for me. Like you've been killing yourself since the moment Dad put me in your care._

For the time being, the thoughts of the past and the hopes and fears of the future dissipated somewhere into the corners of the room. And all the brothers saw were each other, all they felt were the safe arms each had around the other, and their broken hearts were finally beginning to mend after all the pieces had collected in their gazes.

Yes. The Winchester family was starting to heal, one piece of a broken heart at a time.

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_Okay, so I was a sucker for a happy ending. I thought it'd be interesting and ironic to put something in about a role reversal for Sam and Dean yet again, considering this whole story IS a role reversal...Anyways, I hope this sufficed and everyone enjoyed it. Feedback is absolutely darling! Thanks for reading..._

_Silver Kitten _


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